17. At Gadiatch

His attitude showed that it was not his hands alone which gave these benedictions, but that they came from the depths of his heart.

The singer approached in his turn, placing Maroussia before him.

“Bless us, father, bless this child. We have come a long distance to pray to God in your church.”

The good priest glanced benevolently on the old man and the child.

“Father,” said the singer, “I have learned that the largest fire can only extinguish itself in the midst of the desert, while even green wood sparkles and burns when it is put in the midst of the fireplace, and I have left the desert through the necessity of seeing and meeting men.”

Father Mikail trembled on hearing these words. His clear, gentle eyes were fixed on the old pilgrim with an especial attention. He bowed his head in sign of assent to the old man’s words, and said:

“If you come from a distance, my brother, if you have traveled over all the country, you must have seen much suffering and encountered many dangers. The roads are not safe.”

“He who is naked,” said the singer, “need have no fear of his shirt being stolen. He who has only his life to lose does not tempt robbers, and he who does not fear death can go anywhere.”

The good priest trembled again.

“Are our fields ready for the harvest?” he asked the old singer.

Father Mikail uttered the question slowly, weighing well each word, seemingly so simple.

“Our grains are in some places already cut down, and it is not always the owners who have mowed them. As to the others, and I speak of the best land and the best prepared, truly, although not everywhere perfectly ripe, I do not think it will be wise to wait any longer to harvest them. Who can foresee the storms of tomorrow? The fields which are ripe are very fair, my father.”

“May God be with you, my son.” answered the venerable priest, with calmness; “ I thank you for the news you have brought me.”

“Our Ataman! Our Ataman!” they cried on all sides.

Father Mikail entered the church.

“Our Ataman does not appear very gay today,” said a workman in the crowd.

“You might even say that he looks cross,” said another.

“I met him day before yesterday,” whispered a sprightly little woman, “he looked like a great black cloud.”

The arrival of two new persons interrupted the little woman.

“It is our Ataman’s sister-in-law,” could be heard on all sides.

“Méphodiévna,” said one of his neighbors to the old singer, pushing his elbow.